Songs of the Sun
by wellwithmysoul
Summary: "Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come,  In yours and my discharge." - The Tempest.    Wherein our beloved Erik travels to a new country in search of a future and a hope.
1. Chapter 1

Songs of the Sun

"_The Phantom was a real person."_

**Winter, 1870**

No doubt my Persian friend rejoices in the fact that he is ever the wiser between us.

The wet, winter cold reached out with fervent claws and I let it attack, feeling the icy salt sting my face. From my sheltered view below the prow of this private voyager, _The Tempest,_ I can see the city harbor taking shape amidst the failing twilight on the horizon. Already there are signs of discord rising from the swelling waters – a broken and barnacled mast reaching from the dark waters of the harbor.

As the ship docked the harbor and the call is made to depart I slipped the dark mask over my face once more and pulled my hat lower on my head, thankful for the quick winter nightfall and the lack of adequate lighting on the docks. Our private voyager surpassed the rigmarole of "normal" class immigration, all aboard this ship have already had their legalities properly noted and necessary dealings done, underhanded though they were, long before their arrival. I did not ask the Daroga what it cost me to slip unnoticed into this country.

Waiting on the pier was a well-built and smartly dressed man who approached me immediately.

"Mr. Masion?" He drawls, his mouth forming the simple words into a certain melody. I nod curtly and by habit keep my masked side hidden from him. Interestingly, he reached out to shake my hand, an action that would surely cause outrage in Europe. I accept and return his firm grip. By the yellow light of the lantern he I could see he was a striking figure, intelligent blue eyes and a broad, handsome face. His hair was thick and black, tied neatly in a queue at the base of his neck. He studied me openly, his air confident and proud and somewhat… challenging.

"John Washington, sir." He said finally, offering the name I already knew to be my _handler_, so to speak. "Your carriage is just this way." Quickly and deftly he took my bag from me and led me along the slippery dock. An elegant black carriage awaited us led by four beautiful and well-kept draft horses. John opened the door and ushered me inside then quickly returned to the dock to see to my luggage. I took a moment to make my first survey Charleston and this new country. I see the broken vestiges of a bustling city only partially restored to beauty. She is scarred, flawed, her ugly past laid bare in burnt wood and wasted stone.

Yet from the charred remains of the ugliness of man like the phoenix rising, she lived again; carved from loving hands, chipping away a the stone and wood and exposing hope. _Beauty from ashes._

Yes, my old friend, you were right. This country and I will suit one another fine.

**Italy, 1869**

The ink was yet dry on the parchment when the door opened to my humble stone cell and a bear of a man clothed in simple brown robes let himself in, carrying a tea service which looked like a child's toy in his hands.

"Good evening, Brother." I said without looking up. A single, fat candle on the desk that cast a rosy glow about the room but did not dispel the shadows beneath his eyes.

"Is it finished?" He asks simply, nodding towards the stack of parchment that atop the table as he set the tea next to it, helping himself to a cup before settling down on the little hard mattress atop the wooden bed frame.

"Only just."

"Is it the truth?" He can't help but allow the corners of his mouth twitch up in the tiniest of smiles.

"Only the truth could be so ghastly." Comes my mumbled reply. His geniality, as always, irritated me. "I have added my own… _embellishments_, one might say. For theatricality's sake."

"Yes, I gathered that in the sample you lent me – I've known you a great many years now, Erik, and have yet to detect the charming aroma of death you so described." He chuckled then spoke in his native tongue rather than French. "In fact, I would say you smell quite lovely compared to the majority of your countrymen." I scowl at his good humor, which made him chuckle the more. "I see you are still sulking. Have you yet stepped beyond these halls to embrace the sun? At one time you felt most at home in our gardens, if I recall correctly. Besides that, you could stand for a bit of sunlight."

My silence is his reply. He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. I know I make him weary but I know no other way to be.

"You have said yourself and I hope it is written in that very manuscript that The Opera Ghost is dead. Christine herself has buried him in his darkness with her tender hands."

"It is true…" I whispered, yet still a twinge of doubt grieved me. I've lived in darkness for so long, not just the darkness of the night but that blackness of the heart that so consumed me. I passed my hand over the manuscript and knew my face flamed with burning indignity at the monster I had become long before my decent below the Opera Populaire. _Christine_, my heart clenched at the thought of her innocent heart forever tainted by my madness. "How did it become thus? I never meant for any of this to happen, in the beginning… I only wished to hide myself away from the world that so despised me…" I covered my face with hands that trembled. "But that cursed desire that rose up within my heart could not be abated. The desire to be normal, to be accepted… to live my days among those who loved me… To share my music."

"Then do so!" The Brother cried suddenly, startling me by pounding his hand on the stone wall beside him. "Live not as a ghost but as a man! I have not helped redeem you yet again, my friend, so you may incarcerate yourself inside stone once more."

"I do not deserve it, Giuseppe! I am a murderer of the most wicked kind – not only of the body but of the spirit as well!" My voice echoed through the tiny room and I stood over him. "I do not deserve to live, it _should_ be me buried beneath the opera, not some stolen corpse!" My voice cracked with emotion and I turned from him, wrapping my arms about myself to center my rage. It was a few moments before I could speak again. "I do not believe in the redemption to which you speak so ardently." My voice comes out as a wicked hiss.

"You do not _choose_ to believe." He said quietly from behind me. "I _choose_ to believe that a man who's heart is great enough to hold the empire of the world could only have come from that which is divine. The darkness in your soul was not created there, Erik, only _allowed_ to enter all those years ago and to grow and fester as you contented yourself to that dark cellar, as far from light as you could hide." He sighed behind me, his voice weary. "Though may I be damned for blasphemy, I do not believe we are all born of sin – it is the wickedness of this world that turns us to evil. We meager humans, in all our vanity, cry out to the Heavens saying, 'Why have you done this to me?' when in truth the fault lies only within ourselves. You are like a cat on its ninth life, my friend. Take care to accept this one as the gift it is."

"We are the masters of our fate…" I quoted Shakespeare absently, my eyes staring blankly at my reflection cast by candlelight on the gray wall. The monk's words captivated me, held me spellbound. I never before allowed myself such… hope. Perhaps I am just like that which is reflected on the wall, a flickering shadow of the man I was meant to be. That through circumstance, through the dregs of humanity, I was changed, dimmed… a ghost of the man I should have been…

The monk's hand clasped my shoulder behind me, startling me from my rumination. "You must seek your redemption Erik. Seek that living flame of love; be baptized in the waters of life that have so eluded you. Shake away the old darkness that consumed you – shed it like old skin! Let now hope be kindled within." He turned me to face him, I felt like a mere child beneath his large, strong hands. He was one of the few men to tower over me.

From within the folds of his robe handed me a thick parcel bearing my name, written in the Daroga's hand…

~~00~~

Long after Brother Giuseppe left me to consider his words, I once again took up my quill and made the final changes to my manuscript. I included a few new revelations and sealed it with wax from the candle before addressing it as such:

Le Gaulois

Paris, France

Regarding:

The Phantom of the Opera

An Article of Truth offered by Gaston Leroux

~~~ooo~~~

I resisted titling this "Erik Goes to America!"

I really need a beta (as you can see) so if anyone is interested please PM me!

This is Leroux based, though I have pretty much taken whatever poetic license you will allow me… and then some. As you can see I already played with the dates. I will also be altering history, as it were, for my own personal delight :) If this bothers you, fair warning! I'm just in it for the romance anyway. **wink**


	2. Chapter 2

I think I should disclaim the disclaimer from the previous chapter and say this is really my own version of Erik and the Phantom - Leroux purists be warned.

Also, I own nothing and am gaining nothing from writing this fic.

Chapter 2 

"Katie, stop that infernal fidgeting!"

I stopped worrying the corner of my apron where a stitch worked its way loose and gripped my hands tightly together, tossing Bess mulish look. She stared me down with those endless black eyes until I concede, as she knew I would.

"Forgive me, Bess. I'm just so nervous!" I groan, gracelessly plopping down on the wooden bench next to her where she was shelling some of last summer's Kentucky beans. "I just feel like we are so unprepared." I confess, rubbing my face with my rough hands. She chuckled as she shoved the burlap sack of beans between us. I pick up and handful and start shelling, not paying much attention and undoubtedly throwing pebbles and cracked beans into the pot, an act that will not go unpunished by Bess later.

"I know love. This entire ordeal has been nerve-wrackin' to say the least. Once the new owner is here and we all get settled in to a new routine the better, I say." Her deft hands picked and shelled with lightening speed, the muted plink of the beans hitting the bowl an continuous and reassuring sound.

"I just hope he's agreeable." I said and not for the first time. "It is unfortunate Mr. Boucher did not have much in the way of information about him." I brooded once more on what we did know about our mysterious new employer, Mr. Masion. Not much at all, aside from the fact that he was an unmarried, elderly Frenchman with a passion for music and money to spare, the latter two revealed to us when not one, but two! -Grand pianos of the finest quality were delivered to the house, one to be placed in the Master suite.

Then there was the matter of his representative. I had never before laid eyes on a Persian before and I confess I was quite enchanted by the mild mannered man dressed in elegant robes. He was quick and intelligent, I thought him worthy of a detective in a Holmes' novel for the way he seemed to absorb information around him. He was most interested in the history of the house, the grounds, and especially Bess, John and I. He seemed to glean information from me without my ever knowing it until after the fact, all the while revealing little about his client. Once the house was purchased and the arrangements had been made, he asked me for a quick private turn about the grounds. I accepted most happily because, as always, my determining emotion is curiosity.

"My lady," He spoke with quiet respect, his voice and manner engaging and unassuming as always. "Mr. Masion is a very private man. He has been exposed much to the world but very little to society." I thought that an odd statement. "You must know, he is a very unique individual." He said cautiously.

"Aren't we all?"

"That lawyer doesn't know much information about nothing except making a dollar." Bess quipped. "Let's hope he's not too agreeable! You know how these Frenchmen are, always making love to the ladies…"

"Bess!"

"It's true Honey-bee, so you keep a weather eye out and your skirts in check." She warned. I snorted and rolled my eyes.

"Oh yes, to be sure!" I cried theatrically, clutching my breast for effect. "I shall captivate his foreign sensibilities instantly with the all the refined grace and beauty which can only be summoned from a confirmed old American spinster!" Bess elbowed me hard in the ribs.

"Thirty two is-"

"Thirty _three_." I corrected, earning a generous scowl.

"Thirty _anything_ is when a woman is at her prime in life, I tell you, in her full bloom and that includes you, Miss Katie." She eyed my bosom appreciatively and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Fine. You win Bess." I put my hand to my heart and spoke solemnly, as one giving penance. "Should our new mysterious master prove to be a most dashing, handsome Frenchmen with hearts up his sleeve and pretty words on his lips, I shall do all in my power to keep my skirts firmly planted on the ground! And even more-so should he be old and skeletal with misplaced tufts of hair, for you know how _those_ men tempt me!" Our laughter was cut short by the distinct sound of hooves. Bess and I exchanged a look before I hopped to my feet like a dog on a rabbit and ran to the kitchen door in time to see young Billy Hooper slide off his horse.

"Well hello Billy!" I said. He blushed and gave me a great toothy smile.

"Good evening Miss Kate," his voice cracked a bit and he ambled awkwardly towards me as only a growing boy can. "I rode up here straight from town quick as I could, Mr. John sent me to tell you-"

"John?" I interrupted. "But they shouldn't be here until morning!"

"Hello Billy! What's all this?" Bess yelled at us from the table.

"It's what I'm trying to say, ma'am." Billy said, peeking through the doorway at her. "John said to ride up here lickety-split and tell you they're in town and will be along just after dark!"

"Lord help us!" I screeched and turned a complete circle.

"That John! I'll wring his neck!" Bess growled as she pulled her skinny bottom up from the table. "Get on upstairs and start the fire in the bedroom!" She shooed me. I started towards the door when she hissed again. "The coals! Take the coals from this fire to get it going!" I whirled back around and used the fire spade to scoop coals into a heavy metal pail, burning my fingers in my haste and I hauled upstairs quick as I could, my big feet pounding on the heavy wood floors. It seemed to take an eternity for the fire to light but finally I had a cheerful blaze sending out its warmth into the chilly room. I lit the lamps and surveyed it one last time, wholly unsatisfied, grunted in frustration before I flew back downstairs and nearly crashed into Bess lighting the lamps in the entryway.

"Slow down girl!" She chastised me. "If it aint' been done it ain't gonna get done so just calm down. All will be fine." As if to punctuate her statement, the sound of hoof beats and carriage wheels resounded on the cobblestone drive. My hands flew to my hair and I quickly wrapped it into a tight bun, securing it underneath my cap.

"Do I look all right?" I hissed at Bess as we lined up just inside the door. She used her apron to wipe a smudge of coal from my face and winked at me. My hands nervously found their way back to my fringing apron as the sound of heavy footsteps approached and John spoke.

"This way, Mr. Masion." John opened the door and gave us a wary apologetic eye. I felt as though my heart might beat right up throat and out my mouth I was so nervous. Beyond him, stepping in from the blackness, an imposing figure seemed to fill the room and it took all my power not to stare with my mouth wide open. He was tall, so tall he barely fit though the door with his fashionable hat pulled down low and cocked rakishly to one side. He seemed to survey the room quickly. He had a strong, masculine jaw and elegant nose. His brow was heavy and stern, his thick black hair tucked neatly behind his ear that contrasted with skin so fair I briefly wondered when he last saw the light of day. His eyes came to rest on Bess and me, though he did not turn out way but merely surveyed us slowly and pensively from the corner of his eye. I met his green gaze briefly and felt butterflies tremble in my stomach even though his beautiful eyes looked right through me.

John cleared his throat and spoke. "Allow me to introduce Bess, your cook and my mother and Ms. Kate, who will be running the house as you see fit." I dropped my eyes as Bess and I dipped into a quick curtsy. Mr. Masion nodded appropriately and spoke directly to John.

"My room please." Those three little words sent gooseflesh down my arms. For a brief moment I thought I might swoon and chastised myself for being utterly and unforgivably ridiculous.

"Of course." As John escorted Mr. Masion up the stairs I let go of the breath I didn't realize I had been holding. Next to me Bess snorted most unkindly but I refused to meet her eyes as I knew I was blushing furiously.

"Mmm-mm!" She grunted and gave a good hard tug on my skirt.

~~;3

_Erik,_

_I believe you will find everything here adequate and to your liking. The estate includes a lovely wood behind that leads directly to the sea and a plantation house many miles south in the mountains. It is my sincere hope you shall journey there one day._

_I pray you will begin life anew, Erik, as a man and amongst the living in this "land of opportunity." Despite its recent troubles, I have found the people here to be interesting and honest, hard working and enterprising and generally accepting of new ideas in a country still in its infancy._

_This will be the end of our correspondence and the closing chapter of our friendship. I believe it best if you start as one being reborn, my comrade, and to forget the darkness that so encompassed you. Be birthed now as Erik Masion, a man with no precedent to bind him and only the future to drive him. Embrace now life and light – I am confident you shall have your days in the sun. _

_I have personally interviewed the staff here and found them all quite qualified. I believe you will be most pleased with them. _

_Hashem_

Unexpected tears burned at my eyes and I let them fall. He was right, as always, that our friendship (should it be called that) must come to a close. He deserved to be free of me at the very least. Our debts to one another had been paid many times over. He saved me from the khanum's hell where I found myself ensnared, he saved me from the fog of addiction and eventually endured my madness; I offered comfort to his truest love in her last year with my music, separating her from the pain that wracked her tiny body.

Wiping tears from my eyes, I read the letter again, wanting to commit each word to memory. Suddenly the last line struck me as quite odd. Why would he feel it necessary to reassure me of the staff? I trusted his judgment of such things. It would not be like the Daroga to tell all my secrets, though I wonder how much he told them about me. None of them seemed surprised by my mask, but do they know of what lay beneath?

My thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

"Good evening sir!" The housekeeper bustled in bearing a large silver tray, her voice a bit high pitched and chirpy, indicating her anxiousness. I remained seated, refusing to turn towards her as my mask remained across the room on the end table. "I thought you might enjoy some refreshments after you're long journey. One gets so weary from travel! And the journey from Italy with nothing but ocean for days and days, especially so! Bess and I weren't sure what you preferred so I've brought tea and coffee as well as some fine southern whiskey should you care to partake. Ms. Bess was afraid you'd be feeling a bit peckish so she sent some thick sliced ham and hot biscuits with a bit of her best blackberry jam. I'll wager you've never had anything so good as it back east! There's fresh cream and sugar here too-"

The woman rambled on like a trained parrot until I could no further endure her racket.

"Madame!" I said sternly, only turning enough to look at her over my left shoulder. I saw her jump from the corner of my eye. Swallowing hard, I attempted to choke the irritation from my voice. "I am indeed weary from my journey. What I require now, _more than anything,_ is peace and quiet." She gawked at me for a moment before dipping in a quick curtsey and heading towards the door. I could tell by the rustle of her skirts thought that she hesitated in the doorway. Finally she spoke again.

"Ms Bess told me to ask if eight was an acceptable time for breakfast tomorrow?"

"That is fine." I said curtly.

"Wonderful!" She chirped. "I shall have the breakfast table set for you by 7:45. That's the third room downstairs to the left, just next to the kitchen. There's a wonderful view of town from the window!"

"I will take my meals-" I started to grumble but Nadir's words rang fresh in my mind. "…That will be fine." I'm not sure, but I believe she grinned at me before disappearing out of the door.

Pleased indeed Hashem. I do so enjoy chatty women. My nose caught scent of the steaming tray of biscuits and instantly my mouth was flooded. Perhaps I should give him some credit_. _

_~~;3_

"_Sweetheart of mine_

_Can't you hear me callin'_

_A million times I've loved you best_

_I mistreated you_

_Lord and I'm sorry_

_Come back to me is my request"_

That sound… sweet music filled my ears and tugged at my ragged heartstrings. A smooth, mezzo voice pulled me to my feet and I felt myself drifting through the darkened halls as though walking through a dream. _She would be a small, bird-like creature, with porcelain white skin… a fragile and delicate creature, with eyes as soft as her voice… _I crept into the breakfast parlor on cat's feet; the morning light flooding in from the room pierced my unaccustomed eyes and I stumbled slightly upon the doorway. The lovely singing stopped abruptly and a figure whirled around.

"Mr. Masion! You startled me." She clutched a towel to her bosom, studying me with large dark eyes.

"Who was here?" I demanded, irritated by the bright light and my inelegance. My housekeeper, whose name was momentarily lost to me, blinked and glanced around.

"There's no one in here but me, sir." She said cautiously. In two steps my long legs took me across the parlor and into the bright light that grated against my skin. With a jerk I shut the heavy curtains.

She hadn't retreated when I moved towards her, even though we stood quite close. I wanted to step back from her and her confident gaze, but pride would not allow it.

"I heard singing." She flushed slightly and bowed her head.

"I'm sorry Sir to have bothered you. I sing when I work, it's a hab-"

"That was _you_?" I said, more incredulously than I suppose I should have. Resentment flickered over her features but was quickly retracted.

"As I said, there's no one here but me, sir." She spoke in a hushed and servile tone but she studied me in earnest, though not unkindly. Suddenly I felt more exposed than before the shades were drawn.

She was quite tall for a woman and stoutly built. Her features were certainly not beautiful, though not plain - perhaps _interesting_ I would allow; the sort of face that one might turn to look at twice upon passing in the street. Her nose was straight and long, framed with high, round cheekbones and a lofty forehead. Her skin was tanned like soft leather, no doubt from years of a misspent youth in the sun and no doubt could do with a good dose of Grantham's cream. There were crow's feet at the corners of her blue eyes and her straw-colored hair was pulled back in a severe bun, further exaggerating her uncommon features and piercing gaze. A bird indeed – perhaps a hawk! Surely that soothing voice did not come from this creature.

"Sing." I commanded, attempting to cover my unease with cold indifference. Her heavy brows furrowed and she finally took a step back from me.

"Pardon?" She said, less wary than affronted. I sighed impatiently, resisting the urge to roll my eyes heavenward.

"I said sing."

"No, sir, I will not." She said sternly, quickly finishing setting the breakfast table. I felt annoyance boil over me.

"You are in my employ, are you not?" I growled. She glanced at me flippantly over her shoulder as she walked towards the door, a smile tugging at her lips.

"I am sir, as a housekeeper. Not a chorus girl." With that and a distinct sway of her hips she disappeared around the swinging door, leaving me to grumble at her poor choice of words in the darkened parlor.

In a few moments the door swung open again and the cook came in, bearing a large silver tray heavy with food.

"Good morning Mr. Masion! And a fine morning it is." She walked around me and drew back the curtain again, filling the room once more with light. "What's Katie doing, leaving this curtain drawn? It's dark as night in here." I watched her as I took my seat at the end of the oak breakfast table, beautifully stained and carved with leaves and acorns all across the edge. She was a waif of a woman with curly black-going-gray hair pulled back neatly in a pressed white cap. Her dress and apron were perfectly clean and starched to perfection. Her movements were with grace and purpose, everything about her spoke of an efficient nature. Her skin was smooth and dark, the color of excellent Turkish coffee. Thin and bony hands with distinct knuckles that come with age and arthritis piled food high upon my breakfast plate.

"Now you just let me know what you prefer, Mr. Masion. I aim to please." Bess clucked. She hovered over me so like a broody hen I feared she would next tuck my napkin in my shirt! The door whipped open again and Miss Kate returned bearing coffee.

"I am not particular, Ms. Bess." I assured her. "I am also not used to being doted upon." I confessed. Of course my manners are impeccable, but I am unsure how to act being hovered over as such. A stifled snort from Kate drew a sharp look from Ms. Bess as she disappeared through the door and brought my gaze to rest upon her as she arranged my coffee. The dove gray muslin blouse of her uniform was of the new "masculine" style some women were adopting, the sleeves of which were rather inelegantly rolled nearly to her elbows – and the left of which seemed to be giving her some trouble. She pushed it up absently as she set a beautifully engraved silver cup next to the breakfast plate, only for it to immediately slip back down when she reached for the carafe. Pushing it up again she poured my coffee and down it went again when she set the carafe back down. I found myself strangely fascinated, staring so intently on her red, rough hands shoving that sleeve back up her freckled arm I missed what she was said to me.

"Pardon me?" I looked up to see her looking down her long nose at me. She was indeed quite tall.

"Cream and sugar? For your coffee." What was the look she was giving me? Is that a bit of humor in her eyes?

"Yes please." Was my instant reply when in truth I do not care for either – I merely wanted an excuse to see that sleeve slip down her arm again. And there it went!

"Is there anything else?" She asked when she finished, standing by my side with her hands folded demurely.

I gave the daunting mountain of food on my plate a dubious look. "I do believe this is quite enough."

She laughed and made her way back to the kitchen door. "Ms. Bess has decided it is her lot in life to fatten you up, sir. She won't abide a lean man."

I ate my (delicious) meal slowly, as is my habit, savoring each taste. The breakfast room had a lovely view of the village below and I found myself enchanted by the sights of the people outside, busy about their daily lives. Kitchen sounds came through the door as well as the muted women's voices and laughter as they chatted away at their chores. So much life around me… ordinary, everyday life. The clink of kitchenware, the quiet, constant hum and rhythm of life. Yet I still felt as though I did not belong to it, like a bystander behind cold glass, and just beyond the door…

The door opened once more and the heavy step of John met my ear.

"Good morning Mr. Masion." His deep voice filled the room. "I was going to discuss some business with you this morning after breakfast, if that would be all right."

I motioned to a chair. "Now is as good a time as ever." He inclined his head and took a seat next to me as Kate returned to refresh my coffee. Noting John sitting, she poured him a cup as well and fixed it to his liking, I'm sure, and pat his shoulder affectionately before quitting the room. I wondered briefly at their attachment.

"Now, Mr. Masion, I am wondering what is to be expected of this household. There is of course the question of hiring the rest of the staff." Straight to business was this man, a trait I highly respected. "I apologize for the strangeness of our manners here; this has never been a truly European run household, but we shall change as your direction sir, should you feel the dishonor of the cook appearing at your dining table."

"Are the three of you quite capable of running this house?" The thought of twittering maids and gossiping footmen running amok frankly stood my hair on end. One step at a time, I think, would be best. "I am a musician, Mr. Washington. I require a certain amount of peace and quiet. Above all I am a private man; I can assure you I will not be hosting dinner parties or balls at any time. I merely wish to concentrate on my work." And learn how to be human… John seemed quite pleased at this revelation and relaxed back into his chair, an easy smile spreading across his face.

"That suits me just fine sir. We are quite capable of running this house and then some, sir." He spoke confidently, not proudly. "This morning if you wish, Katie can show you the house and this afternoon if it be convenient I will show you the rest of the estate."

~~;3

"Mr. Masion?" His back is to me and I rap lightly on the doorframe. When he turned the distance was back in his green eyes that I was there when they first met mine. I forcefully reminded myself to be still and not ramble. "John said you might like to take a tour of the house?" The fog in his eyes lifts and he studied me openly for a moment.

"Indeed." He replied, but remained next to his piano. A moment of awkward silence fell between us and I forced down the demon horde of giggles that rose up inside me.

"Well... This is your room." I said, gesturing widely with my arm and I cannot help but smile. At last, a charming smile broadens his lips. I had honestly feared him incapable - and what a shame that would be for it was a beautiful sight.

"So it is." Finally he moved towards the door and I skipped out ahead of him, commenting on the beautiful mahogany wood of the open hall and stair.

"The house is a marvel; one of it's kind in the states, built in 1796 by Lord Ulafsson of Scandanavia and is a testament to both Scandinavian and Mediterranean styles. The marble for the floors came straight from Greece by way of three ships. If you will follow me through these double doors you will see your room is actually a suite, complete with a very modern bath and sitting room. All the rooms on this wing of the house face the sea, which you can see in the distance. When spring comes and we can open the windows there is always a lovely breeze coming off the waters."

"You have been in this house for a long time I assume?"

"Yes sir, since I was a child. Now if you will observe the center of the grand stair leads to a very lovely ballroom for entertaining. The mirrored ceiling is quite beautiful when all the candles are lit and the ladies are swathed in their elegant dress!"

He barely entered the room before a noticeable pallor came over him. He would not glace up at the mirrors, but instead stayed in the doorway, clearing his throat.

"And the next room." His voice was short and strangled. Odd…

"Yes sir, the opposite wing of the house is comprised of six guest rooms, each with a

private balcony overlooking the village below and lovely wood beyond, which is bathed in such beautiful colors in the fall you should think everyday was painted by sunset." I opened each door for him to see the rooms and he nodded in approval of each and genuinely pleased - though perhaps not as excited as I thought he should be. I doubted he had ever seen such a unique and beautiful house in all of Europe!

As we made our way down the stair I made a study of the man I now felt was under my care. There was something very vulnerable about him, something that made my long-rusted maternal instincts kick in, as well as a few other instincts I am too ladylike to mention. Indeed, the man was surely handsome, at least what I could see. I had to guess he must cover some disfigurement with his mask, something that brought him shame. Though he moved with natural grace and elegance he was very rigid, his posture perfect, hands clasped behind his back. He was perfectly groomed, his long legs in clad in straight black trousers. His day jacket was perfectly tailored, exaggerating broad shoulders and tapering down to his waist and long in the back, as is the fashion. He was broad but lean and angular, like a thoroughbred. He was sure to keep some distance from me whether because of his status, propriety or because he was not comfortable in my presence I am not sure, perhaps all three. I am generally of a most affable nature, but this man made me ill at ease. There were so many questions whirling around in my mind about him I didn't realize I quit talking as we approached the music room and was studying him most absurdly.

"Madam?" He finally said, breaking me from my spell.

"Your English is perfect." I blurted, blush rising to my cheeks. "Are you not from France originally?"

"I have traveled much in my life and have a certain… knack for language, one might say." His voice was like molasses, dark and rich, and I did not doubt him.

"Now here is a room I hope you will find most inviting!" I smiled and opened the heavy door, revealing a bright room bathed in light. "This is the music room." I said cheerily. I found myself longing for his approval of my most favorite room in the house, save the kitchen, which is the heart of any house. "If the kitchen be the heart of the house, then the music room must be its soul." I completed my thought. It was simply furnished with comfortable couches and an inviting divan, in soft muted colors of crème and yellow. His newly acquired pianoforte was nested in the corner closest to the windows overlooking the wood and sea beyond. He walked immediately to it and tapped out a simple melody. "John said you are a composer?" I asked, coming to stand opposite him across the piano. He nodded, not looking up. "How wonderful! You'll find this is a very musical household. I do so look forward to hearing you play."

"You have a lovely voice." He said, finally looking up at me. "Though it lacks finishing. With proper training you could improve it and sing professionally."

How utterly ridiculous! I stifled a laugh. "Is that so?" I said, unable to keep from smiling. "I much prefer to sing for the joy of singing, unfinished though it may be." He looked pained for a moment.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend." He looked out the window rather than at me. I smiled broader.

"And I am not at all offended." I leaned to my left and into his view. "What do you think of the room? Shall you be inspired to make beautiful music in here?"

"I already am." He said, only meeting my gaze briefly before tripping his fingers over the keys once again.

"Excellent!" I was truly happy he was pleased with this room, for I had already decided to despise him should he disapprove of it!

~~;3

I am not sure I am capable of that which I desire the most - an ordinary life. I fear I have spent too long in the quiet of night to ever fully integrate myself into the world of the living - and it is not even noontime on my first day of being "human." I have a sinking suspicion it is because of my lovely tour guide and housekeeper.

The woman completely unnerved me. I was unsure what it was at first; whether it was her constant nervous chatter or the searching, open way she met my eyes. She was extremely proud of the house and introduced me to it as though she were its mistress rather than its housekeeper. The way she talked, so lively, exclaiming over every minute detail and explaining the origins of a fine carving or piece of furniture was nearly comical. It was when she opened the door to the music room, her face hungry for my approval I realized why she unnerved me so. She swept her arms open as though to embrace the room and swirled around to face me.

It was her zeal, her enthusiasm for life that did it. Twice already in the short time I have been here I have completely made an ass of myself to her and she merely _smiled_ as though she rejoiced in my absurdity. When I told her, honestly, that I was pleased with the music room I thought she might move to embrace me! After years of dealing with fastidious royalty followed by watching the manipulations of the divas of the stage, I had no idea how to deal with such an earnest, cheerful person. She endlessly caught me off guard with her curious gaze and sudden questions… I felt as though I spent the morning with the Spanish inquisition!

During her continual explanation of the different styles influencing the house I took time to study her and noticed, with some amusement followed by slight discomfort, the woman was not wearing a corset. Indeed, as she leaned down to better point out some exquisite detailing in the parquet flooring of the music room, her blouse and chemise fell away and I noticed with youthful delight a tan line, a perfect "v" descending between her round, creamy white breasts, as well as three large freckles trailing up the round swell of her left cleavage. I allowed my eyes to travel down her frame as she turned to mention something about the view; I realized she also wore no petticoats; her heavy muslin skirt fell from her waist in a perfectly natural curve. Her skirt was utilitarian in style, renouncing the ruffles and ribbons that were so fashionable now. I concluded she must be some sort of progressive woman - an interesting characteristic for a housekeeper, no doubt.

"Do you play only the piano?" She turned back to me, throwing me out of my thoughts. She faced me expectantly across from the pianoforte.

"No, I play many instruments."

"Truly!" She said. "Such as?" Her curiosity was insatiable!

"Anything you place in my hands." I hadn't intended for my statement to sound quite as pompous as it did. She made a little "o" shape with her mouth, her eyes glittering with amusement. I fiddled with the keys to avoid her.

"Well, you have seen the house, save the kitchen but Bess is there now with a stew on the fire so I think it best we not disturb her." She smiled at me. "I hope you have found everything to your liking?"

"Everything is perfectly adequate, Madam." I responded with a little nod. I saw her ruffle just the slightest bit.

"Just Kate is fine, if you please Sir." She wiped an imaginary spot of dust from the piano, unable to be still for very long.

"Ms. Kate." I began in earnest, "I am very pleased with everything I have seen so far. This house is as beautiful as any I've seen and a truly unique blend of cultures. I am sure I will be quite… happy… here." My voice broke unexpectedly on the word "happy" which The Hawk did not miss, cocking her head slightly to one side and pinning me down with her eyes. She studied me quite frankly for a moment; her brows furrowed just slightly, her lips pursed in thought.

"I hope you will be." She said finally, decisively. "Truly I do."

The honesty and concern she conveyed in those few words threatened my composure and I felt my throat grow tight. Devil be damned, I am not going to cry right here in front of this woman! I cleared my throat uncomfortably and looked out the window, still feeling her eyes on me.

"I shall leave you then to your music and me to my chores." She spoke with an undertone of sadness and I felt the life seep from the room in her absence.


End file.
